


corazón de cenicero

by untouchableocean



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt, Semi-Public Sex, Set in 2010, oh yeah. you all thought max/kimi/charles was my most self indulgent fic ever, well you aint seen nothing yet babes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 17:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/pseuds/untouchableocean
Summary: "He remembers harsh hands gripping and bruising his hips, hot mouths biting at his neck, strong fingers laced through his hair and holding his head in place. He shudders, but he tells himself it’s just the wind."





	corazón de cenicero

**Author's Note:**

> well. i've gone to another level of "writing fic for me and literally one other person". did you know that checo was fucking adorable in 2010? i saw a picture of him at a sauber test in 2010 and basically went I Want That Twink Obliterated. so yeah, he's 20 in this fic.  
this can be considered a sort of prequel to just, which is where the summary is from.  
title from ashtray heart by placebo. please listen, it's the anthem of this fic.

Sergio grips his drink tightly, his eyes darting furtively around the room. He shouldn’t be here. He’s a member of the Ferrari driver academy. He’s going to be a Formula One driver next year. If even one person recognises him it will be the end of all that, no more sponsorships, no more drive, nothing, and the idea terrifies him. And yet, here he is.

He shakes out his soft hair, somehow feeling unnatural without a helmet on. He sort of wishes he was wearing a helmet, thinking maybe it would make him feel a bit less nervous. Because he is nervous, of course he’s nervous, he’s a GP2 driver sitting alone in a gay bar in Mexico City; it’s not the kind of situation that makes one exactly calm. He takes another gulp of tequila, wincing as he waits for the Dutch courage to come to him, but as he finishes his drink he finds himself just as tense as he was before he arrived.

The beat of whatever techno song is playing through the speakers blasts through his head, ringing in his ears and making him shake a little. He stares into the empty tumbler, swirling the remnants of golden liquid around the cheap glass. He feels out of place, surrounded by people in tight clothes grinding up against each other, and he’s starting to think he should just go back to his hotel and hide under the covers forever when he spots someone across the room.

The man’s taller than him, he can see that, and he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, unlike most of the people in the club. Sergio hates how he’s instantly drawn to him, his tall frame and perfect build and gorgeous, gorgeous face paired with short brown hair and a smile that seems brighter than the admittedly dim lights of the club. Sergio knows he’s staring but he can’t tear his eyes away, fascinated by the way he’s talking, moving, everything.

Suddenly the man catches sight of Sergio and he looks away hurriedly, going to take a sip of his drink before realising it’s empty and then he’s got no idea what to do with his hands so he clumsily scratches behind his ear, looking the other way and hoping he somehow melts into the ground and wakes up in his hotel room, warm and alone and oblivious to all of this. However, fate has other such plans, and he hears the barstool next to him squeak as the man sits beside him and taps his shoulder.

“Hi.”

Sergio turns around, trying his best not to shrink away from the touch. He’s used to people touching him, strapping him into cars, pulling him this way and that way to god knows where but even though it’s just a tap, this feels too light, too intimate, too…

“Hey.”

He smiles in what he hopes is a normal way, but probably makes him look like an idiot. The man smiles back and signals to the bartender for two more drinks. Sergio swings his legs back and forth a little, nerves threatening to overwhelm him. He doesn’t know what people do in these kinds of situations. Is he meant to talk, or wait in silence, or make some kind of secret hand signal?! He’s never even done this in a normal bar, yet alone a-

“You alright?”

He realises he must look awkward as all hell and he nods, mouth dry as he leans on his forearms. His tongue quickly darts out to wet his lips and he’s suddenly hyper aware of the man’s eyes on his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he mumbles, words sticky in his throat.

The man smiles again, different this time, as though he can see right through Sergio’s fragile words. Their drinks arrive and Sergio downs half the cheap beer in one go, the bitter taste washing his tongue clear and loosening his mind. As he puts the bottle down, the man leans on the bar and turns to face him fully, dark blue eyes dragging over him, eyeing him up.

“I haven’t seen you around before.” Sergio purses his lips and scratches the back of his hand under the bar. “Where are you from?”

“Guadalajara. You?”

“Here.”

Sergio makes a noise of acknowledgement and swallows the rest of the beer, pushing away the notion that he’s being observed. Every movement watched, scrutinised; he’d thought he’d be used to it by now, but this is unnerving him more than it should.

The man takes a swig of his drink and Sergio wonders how old he is. He’s definitely older than Sergio, maybe early thirties? That would explain the shirt; he’s probably got a proper job somewhere in the city, came straight from work. Not like Sergio hadn’t come straight from work too, if a lowkey PR job for one of his sponsors counts as work. He figures it does.

“So, you around for long tonight?”

Sergio’s heartbeat speeds up and he bites the inside of his cheek, vision flickering for a second. He knows this is what he’s here for. He’s scared, sure, but this guy is hot and he’s fairly sure that if he doesn’t do this soon he’s going to combust. He takes a deep breath, praying his anxiety isn’t borne on his face, and speaks in a low voice.

“I’m here all night.”

The man’s face breaks into a coy smile and he leaves his beer half-finished on the bar, sliding off the barstool and heading in the direction of the bathrooms, cool as anything. Sergio looks around for a second, checking his surroundings before following him into the poorly lit restroom.

There’s nobody else in there except for the two of them and Sergio feels ridiculously exposed all of a sudden, the armour of his hoodie falling to threads under the man’s hungry gaze. He walks into the cubicle furthest from the door and Sergio quickly glances at himself in the mirror. His hair is a mess, and he frowns, knowing it’s about to get messed up anyway.

The second he walks into the cubicle he’s pushed up against the wall and he gasps as the man grabs the front of his hoodie, lifting him up onto his tiptoes and kissing him roughly. He’s never kissed another guy before but he opens his mouth, letting their tongues and teeth clash awkwardly and clinging to the man’s shoulders like a lifeline. The only noises are their harsh breaths and the awkward fumbling of Sergio pulling off his hoodie and it’s only as Sergio gets dragged up by his shirt that he realises-

“I don’t even know your name,” he breathes into the man’s mouth and he chuckles, biting at Sergio’s bottom lip.

“No,” He smirks against Sergio’s mouth. “but I know yours, Sergio.”

Sergio freezes. Ohhhhhhhh shit. Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_. This is the exact reason he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be doing this, he’s so fucking stupid, god, he should have just stayed at home, never even thought about this again; why the hell is he such a dumbass?

He probably looks panicked as hell (because he is) and the man reaches to cup his cheek in one hand. He strokes his jawline and softly bites the tip of his ear, muttering in a husky voice.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” He holds up his hand, a faint tan line wrapped around his ring finger. “You think my wife knows what I get up to?”

Sergio swallows, his mind swirling with a billion thoughts concerning the end of his career and/or life before it’s even really started, but when the man’s lips connect with his again he can’t help but push them to the back of his mind. He lets himself go lax under the man’s hold, and his jeans are getting unbearably tight.

“You can call me Toño.”

Sergio nods, letting his head fall back as Toño rubs at him through his jeans. He doesn’t even care if it’s a fake name, just wants to savour this moment, stay here in this dingy toilet for the rest of forever, pinned against the wall, still on his tiptoes, head spinning, crotch damp.

He’s unable to stop himself from staring as Toño unzips his fly and tugs his boxers down, pulling out his cock and…oh god, it’s bigger than Sergio expected. Sergio gasps and Toño laughs he sucks a hickey onto the soft skin of his neck, and Sergio should be panicking at that but he can’t find the mind to do anything about it, instead groaning softly at the warmth, closing his eyes and tolerating the steady stream of horrible thoughts that rush through his head.

When he feels Toño pulling at his shoulder he doesn’t resist, letting himself be turned around and pushed further against the wall, face resting on the cool tiles. It’s not exactly the nicest place to lose your virginity, but he reminds himself he doesn’t deserve any better. _This is what I get_, a mantra thumping in his mind as he helps Toño undo his jeans and pull them down, exposing his lower half to the stuffy air.

He bites his lip as he hears the lube packet being torn open, fearful anticipation flooding his veins, his heartbeat echoing in the lonely room as he closes his eyes again. He manages to stay silent as Toño rubs at his hole, but when he pushes one finger in he cries out at the unnatural feeling. He’s tried this a couple of times by himself, in hotels far from home, behind locked bathroom doors, but the angle is all wrong this time and he draws short, shaky breaths, praying Toño can’t feel him trembling around him.

“Have you done this before?”

Toño’s breath is warm on Sergio’s ear and he feels weak, powerless as he towers over him.

“Yes,” he lies, eager to hurry up and get this over with.

“Don’t lie, sweetheart.” He presses Sergio further against the wall and he grasps pathetically at the tiles, suddenly viscerally aware of how small he feels.

Toño adds a second slick finger, massaging inside him and opening him up, and he slowly gets used to the vaguely familiar feeling. He’s never gone past two fingers before, always too scared to add another, pulling out as he gets close and jacking himself off onto the bathroom floor. So when Toño slides the inevitable third finger in, he chokes out a dry sob, wondering when it got so difficult to breathe.

Sergio whines as Toño pulls out, simultaneously terrified and aching to be filled. He leans his head forwards on the wall as he listens to Toño opening the condom wrapper, attempting to steady his breathing and somehow mentally prepare himself for this. He breathes short sharp breaths, screwing his eyes shut and waiting for the fall.

The silence is deafening as he waits, every second lasting a lifetime before he feels Toño lining himself up. Toño’s hand slides up his side, ghosting over his thin shirt before gripping at his shoulder, thumb resting at the back of his neck and holding him still. He places a sloppy kiss on Sergio’s cheek before he pushes into him.

It _hurts, _much more than he thought it would, and Sergio loses total control of his body as the pain sears through him, barely able to stay standing as Toño tears him in two. Toño grabs him around the chest, hooking one arm under his shoulders and holding him upright. He leans down and kisses Sergio’s cheek again, whispering into his burning skin.

“Shh, it’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Sergio flushes red, partly from the pain and partly from the humiliation. He doesn’t need to be held. It’s bad enough doing this, even if he needs it. _Let go, I can hold myself_ is what he wants to say, but he doesn’t, his throat closing around the words because deep down he knows he can’t.

Once the worst is in he relaxes a little, his melting brain still screaming but he pushes back, hurrying it up. When Toño’s fully in Sergio groans, long and throaty, not ready at all but he finds that he doesn’t care. He leans back against Toño’s shoulder, shuddering at his own submission, his lips parted in unconstrained want.

“Fuck, you feel good,” His voice is right in Sergio’s ear as he starts to move, sending jolts of hedonistic pain through his body. “so fucking good, all for me, huh?”

Sergio nods pathetically and lets his head fall forwards but Toño grabs his neck, pulling him back against his chest, holding him in place. He can’t feel his arms, all he can feel is a horrific mix of shame and bliss, feeling like this isn’t where he should be but it’s where he belongs. The noises of skin on skin are like nothing he’s ever heard, not even in porn, a visceral chorus, a soundtrack to his own descent to hell.

Toño lets him go and his cheek smacks the wall, and it hurts but he doesn’t mind, the dull ache somehow comforting; his thumping heart bookended by throbbing pain, keeping him from disassociating completely. He knows he’s got to stay grounded or there’s no point, and all this will be for nothing. As his cheek rubs against the wall, he feels it’s kind of damp, and he shifts to see a small red smudge on the tile.

Toño grabs both of his hips and pulls him back a little, using the new angle to really slam into him. Sergio shouts far too loud when Toño hits his prostate, quickly slapping his hand over his mouth as soon as the sound comes out. He’s bending his elbow awkwardly to keep himself quiet and he ends up moving so he can just bite down on his own forearm, muffling his cries.

He can feel his orgasm building up inside him, familiar yet startlingly different. His breaths grow shorter and it doesn’t hurt as much anymore and it terrifies him, and he bites hard enough to bleed on his arm, dragging pain back into the ordeal with pierced flesh and dripping blood. Everything goes fuzzy at the corners of his eyes and he loses his arm as Toño grabs his hair and pulls him back and he can’t hold on any longer, reaching down to jerk himself off but Toño bats his hand away and does it himself.

It’s too much all at once for Sergio, and it’s the perfect agony of having another man all over him, completely in control, taking everything from him that sends him crashing over the edge. He yells, ignoring everything around him, where they are, revelling in the static buzz his mind reverts to as he falls back to earth. His breathing doesn’t calm down and neither does Toño, still thrusting unforgivingly into him.

It hurts again now, his body oversensitive and twitching, every sharp thrust a new needle as he whimpers and lets himself be used, a useless, quivering wreck. He doesn’t cry, mustn’t cry, even though it’s really hitting him now, how awful this is, and he lets the pain shoot through him, and he knows he deserves it, this is disgusting, _he’s _disgusting, just another one of God’s mistakes, seeking out sin and finding damnation in the form of deplorable lust.

He can’t come back from this, and it terrifies him, yet he still did it.

_What’s wrong with me?_

Toño comes with a grunt, his face dangerously close to Sergio’s. He pulls out and Sergio whines, the sudden feeling of emptiness not limited to his lower half. He does up his jeans and twists himself around slowly as Toño ties a knot in the condom and flushes it down the toilet, the ache almost unbearable as his post-orgasmic haze dissipates entirely. He shuffles past Toño and closes the toilet lid, sitting down and wincing at the pain as he buries his face in his hands.

He’s trying to lose himself when Toño pulls his hands away from his face, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look up. He rubs his thumb over the cut on Sergio’s cheek and Sergio grimaces, knowing it must be pretty bad. He can just say he fell over, of course, he’s _usually_ a pretty good liar. He just hopes he can keep it up.

Toño smiles, the same smile Sergio had seen when he’d first sat down next to him less than half an hour ago. He runs his thumb down to Sergio’s pouting mouth, ghosting over his bleeding bottom lip and pushing between his teeth, just holding his mouth open. Sergio stares up with tired eyes, too exhausted to move back.

“You’re cute.” Sergio’s heart judders in his ribcage. “Good luck with the racing. I’ll cheer for you.”

Toño shoots Sergio one last smile before he turns and walks out, leaving Sergio alone in the cubicle. He reaches for his hoodie with a trembling hand, staring at the splashes of his cum dripping ungraciously down the wall. He waits until Toño’s finished washing his hands and he's certain he's alone before he starts to cry, soft sobs barely audible even in the silent, empty bathroom. Every sob makes him hate himself more; men don’t fucking cry, Sergio, pull yourself together, you’re not a nancy.

He blinks away the rest of the tears and pulls on his hoodie, shuffling out of the bathroom, ignoring the mirrors as he practically runs out, back into the swirling world of the club. He’s got no idea if Toño’s still there but he pulls his hood up and heads out the back entrance, hailing the first taxi he sees.

As the city lights fly past him on the way back to the hotel, he clutches the silver crucifix in his pocket, finding himself completely unable to put it back around his neck. He pushes back the tears, telling himself he won’t go back, and when he realises he can’t even believe himself, he wonders how many hours he’ll need to spend in front of the mirror, practicing filthy lies.

**Author's Note:**

> young, dumb, and full of...religious guilt  
now, few people know this, but when brian molko wrote "you were alone before we met, no more forlorn than one could get, how could we know we had found treasure? how sinister and how correct." he was actually talking about checo losing his virginity in a nightclub in mexico city


End file.
